


No More Sorrow Will I Find

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Series: Free As A Bird [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Multi, OT3, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets rarely remain secret forever, and sometimes it turns out there was never any need to hide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No More Sorrow Will I Find

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write something fluffy, and this came out of nowhere -- but once the image had entered my head, it was impossible to shake loose.
> 
> Context-wise, this takes place mid-series 1 (after _Commodities_ ).

From his perch on the bed, Athos watched as Aramis straddled Porthos’s lap and dipped his head in search of his lips. When he found his goal, Porthos emitted a growl of pleasure, long and low, deep in his throat.

Spreading his legs wide, Porthos planted his feet more firmly on the floor so as not to lose his balance on the stool as Aramis pressed closer, his hands clutching at Porthos’s biceps, insistent, craving his touch.

Porthos’s hands found their way to Aramis’s shoulders, slipping his suspenders free before travelling south once more to work their way under his shirt and skim over the heated skin beneath.

As he edged the linen slowly upward, Aramis obligingly broke the kiss long enough to allow Porthos to pull the shirt over his head. Immediately he had discarded the unwanted garment, Porthos’s mouth went to the newly revealed flesh at the angle of Aramis’s neck and shoulder, his teeth and tongue exploring unimpeded.

Unable to contain the soft sounds that were drawn unbidden from his lips, Aramis tugged desperately at Porthos’s shirt, needing the feel of bare skin against his. With a small chuckle, Porthos yanked it off and tossed it aside, barely breaking contact to do so.

As Porthos lifted his chin to allow Aramis better access to his throat, his eyes met Athos’s, and a lazy smile spread across his face. He nudged Aramis.

“We’re gettin’ a little ahead of ourselves.”

Aramis raised his head and flashed him a confused frown before he followed Porthos’s gaze and caught his meaning. He grinned brightly.

“Perhaps we should amend this oversight,” he suggested, his tone playful.

“Too right.” Porthos stood, lifting Aramis with him, and turned to deposit the other man on the stool before going to Athos and dropping beside him on the mattress. With one hand at his jaw, he gently turned Athos to face him, brushing his lips lightly against Athos’s until he felt him responding, his lips parting, inviting. Deepening the kiss, his hand glided over Athos’s thigh, feeling the taut muscles twitch.

As they both began to grow breathless, Porthos lifted the hem of Athos’s shirt with the intention of bringing him up to speed, only to find his hand instantly stayed by the grasp of strong fingers. Pulling back an inch, he fixed Athos with an expression both puzzled and amused.

“Not shy are ya?”

“No.” Despite his assertion, Athos pulled back a little until Porthos dropped his hand, confusion now clouding his features. “I would just prefer to keep this on.” He held Porthos’s gaze, trying to silently convey that he objected to only this, nothing else.

“I’m sure you’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” Aramis said from his spot on the stool. He was unable to see the disquietude in Athos’s eyes from where he sat, but it suddenly occurred to him that he had never seen Athos without a shirt, not when training in the hot summer’s sun, not even after the three of them had taken to falling into bed together, their bond encompassing more than mere friendship. It had never been remarkable in the past, not when there were more important matters at the forefront of all their minds.

Athos had always been reserved, almost to the point of appearing imperturbably emotionless to those who didn’t know him well, but this particular insecurity seemed unfounded.

When Athos didn’t respond, Aramis continued. “There’s nothing you need hide from us.”

His words were meant to be reassuring, but Athos’s expression grew even more sombre, and he lowered his gaze to stare at his knees.

“If only that were true.”

Athos spoke softly, but his voice, and the bleakness it held, was clearly audible in the quiet of the room.

“What do you mean?” Aramis asked, the question edged with a fearful concern, the arousal that had been heating his veins suddenly cooling to icy dread as his mind futilely tried to guess the meaning behind Athos’s statement.

Porthos tried, and failed, to make Athos meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” Athos insisted, trying without success to sound convincing. He flicked a quick glance from Aramis to Porthos. “Please don’t push this.”

Porthos’s brow furrowed into a frown, immediately fearing that he and Aramis had unintentionally brought about this discomfort. Perhaps they had pushed him into this too fast; they had never expressly discussed this development in their relationship, and maybe Athos wasn’t quite as certain about it as they had believed him to be.

“You do want this, don’t you?” he asked, regretting having never asked before.

“Yes.” Athos’s reply was instantaneous, and vehement enough to banish Porthos’s worry, if not his confusion.

Recognising that he was not going to be able to satisfactorily appease the fears of his friends with anything less than the truth, Athos drew in a breath and released it on a shaky sigh, wishing he had a bottle of wine to hand to provide him some measure of fortifying strength.

“I…” His abortive attempt to begin an explanation hung between the three men for a moment, and Athos could feel twin stares of anticipation fixed upon him. But no further words presented themselves.

Finally, he decided there was nothing else for it but to leap blindly into the unknown. These men had proven themselves his friends, and he could do nothing more put his faith in the strength of that friendship. Before he could lose his courage, he rose to his feet. “Perhaps it would be best if I were to show you.”

Moving across to the other side of the room, he stood clear of the furniture and turned to face the others, his eyes darting uncertainly around the small space before settling on a spot on the floor somewhere between Aramis and Porthos. Grasping the hem of his shirt, he tugged it up and over his head in one fluid motion.

There was a sharp intake of breath as, instead of bare skin, a long strip of linen was revealed, wound tightly around Athos’s torso, beginning beneath his armpits and ending just below his ribs.

“Are you hurt?” Aramis immediately rose with the intention of examining the wound he assumed must lay beneath the bandages.

“No, no,” Athos assured him quickly, holding up a hand to both wave Aramis back and allay his fears. “I am not hurt. Please, just…give me a moment.”

Aramis did as he was asked, but watched even more attentively as Athos’s hands went to the bindings and began to unravel them, slowly unwinding them from around his body. His fingers betrayed a slight tremor as they worked; rarely had they seen Athos so ill at ease and unsure of himself.

When the linen fell loose, he let the long strip fall from his fingers to pool on the floor with his discarded shirt. His gaze was fixed on the cloth, and remained there as he unfurled a pair of large wings, stretching them to their full span until their tips were almost touching the walls of the room. He gave them a quick shake to work loose the cramp that had set in while they had been bound to his back.

In the silence that followed, Athos didn’t dare raise his eyes for fear of what he might see in the faces of his friends. While he was certain they would not feel any prejudice, he had no idea how they might receive this revelation.

“Oh…”

Aramis’ soft exclamation, exhaled on a breath, was what finally drew Athos’s gaze up from the floor. His heart fluttering, he risked a look at his friends’ faces and found both staring at him in undisguised awe. Porthos’s gape would have been almost comical were it not for the wonder dancing in his eyes.

Porthos had risen from the bed and taken half a step forward before he realised what he was doing and paused, his arm frozen in the act of reaching out towards Athos.

“Can I…?”

Athos considered his unfinished request, something within him wanting to keep his distance, remain as isolated as he often sought to be, but he had already taken the first step towards revealing his full self; there was no reason to remain reticent now.

“Yes,” he said in assent. “You may touch them.”

Porthos closed the remaining distance between them and ran his fingertips over the soft, tawny down on the interior of one wing, moving along its length to the rich, dark brown, rigid flight feathers at its tip, his touch light, almost reverential.

“Never met anyone with wings before,” he said, his gaze following the path of his fingers as if to reassure himself he wasn’t imagining this.

Athos felt no need to respond to that; wings were an uncommon trait, and one virtually unheard of amongst the lower classes. Growing up on the streets of the Court of Miracles, Porthos had only ever heard rumours, the kind of stories that had always sounded just a little too far-fetched to be true.

Aramis was watching from the stool, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Why have you never told us about this?” he asked, not unreasonably. “Before now.”

There was no trace of the hurt Athos had anticipated at his friends’ discovery of his concealment, only curiosity. He may have never truly deceived them, but had still feared his failure to be completely candid might ruin some of the trust that existed between them.

“It is not exactly an attribute that befits a Musketeer.”

That was the truth, if not the answer Aramis had been seeking. It had long been the case that men with wings were not encouraged to join the ranks of the King’s Musketeers. While it might not be a trait that prevented a man performing his duty safeguarding the royal family, it did not present the image of a soldier that was so important to those in power.

Aramis, meanwhile, was remembering those few occasions when Athos had received an injury and refused to allow Aramis to treat him, brushing off his concern with less-than convincing assurances that he was fine. Aramis had never pushed, but Athos had to have sought treatment for those wounds somewhere, and there was only one person who might have provided such a discreet service.

“Treville knows.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Athos admitted. “I had to inform him. He’s the only one I have told.”

“I understand why you have never announced it to all and sundry in the regiment,” Aramis said, trying to see things from Athos’s point of view, the private man who always put others before himself and was one of the most honorable men he knew. “But we’re your friends.”

They were more than merely friends, and Athos felt Aramis’s words pierce his heart even though they hadn’t been meant as an accusation.

Porthos’s hand fell to his side as he too fixed Athos with a curious gaze. “Don’t you trust us?”

Athos’s response to that was immediate and emphatic. “Of course I trust you.” To his mind, their mutual trust had never been in question; it was purely his own failings that had led to his secrecy. His friends deserved a true explanation.

Wings drooping along with his shoulders, he slipped past Porthos and slumped heavily onto the bed. He was silent for a moment, memories whirling like wind-blown leaves in his mind as he tried to gather them into some kind of order.

Aramis and Porthos waited courteously, and when Athos eventually broke the silence, it was with a dull monotone, devoid of emotion, as if he were recounting inconsequential events from somebody else’s life.

“When we were children, our parents encouraged my brother and me to embrace our wings, to see them as a gift and a promise of freedom. And we did. But as I grew older, I came to realise that some people would never be able to see past the wings to the man beneath. After…” He paused. Some things were still too raw, too painful to speak aloud, even now. “After I left La Fère, they became just another reminder of a past I wanted to forget. Nor did I want to be treated differently from any other man because of them.” Another short pause as Athos met the eyes of each of his friends in turn. “I never meant to keep it from you. It has just become habit after all this time.”

Aramis and Porthos listened to the halting narrative without interruption, unable to imagine the difficulties Athos had encountered, but quietly accepting the reason he had never before volunteered this information. It was a testament to their bond that he felt able to now.

After a moment, Porthos asked, “Doesn’t it hurt, keeping ’em strapped down like that?” His mind had already turned to the far more important consideration of his friend’s well-being.

“It can be uncomfortable, yes.”

Both Porthos and Aramis correctly guessed that to be something of an understatement, but Athos had never been one to bemoan his own discomfort.

“You shouldn’t hide them,” Porthos said decisively. The wings were as much a part of Athos as his arms or legs, and Porthos saw nothing but the beauty of the man he loved.

It sounded so simple, and Athos wished it could be so. “I can hardly turn up to parade like this.”

“Perhaps not,” Aramis agreed, considering both sides to that argument and seeing an obvious compromise. “But here, with us…”

Athos, touched by their easy acceptance, could only nod, a grateful smile ghosting across his lips.

“Good.” Porthos dropped down beside Athos once again and smoothed his hand over feathers that shivered at his touch. “Because they’re beautiful.” He brought his hands up to cup Athos’s face, meeting his gaze with an earnest intensity as heartfelt as his words. “ _You’re_ beautiful.”

A flush swept across Athos’s cheeks as he felt the passion in Porthos’s voice pool warmly in his breast. Lost for an adequate way to express his own feelings, he was saved from having to respond by Porthos’s fervent kiss. He slipped an arm around Porthos’s waist, drawing him closer, and curled a wing around his body, the feathers brushing lightly against bare skin.

“Fuck.” Porthos was suddenly staring at Athos, eyes wide and dark. “Do that again.”

The corner of Athos’s mouth twitched in a smile, and he heard the amused huff of Aramis’s laugh. Catching his eye, Athos held out a hand to him, and Aramis instantly left the stool to join them on the bed, taking Athos’s hand and pressing a kiss to the palm as he sat at his other side. As Porthos had done before, Aramis’s fingers smoothed over feathers, played along the length of a wing, then glided back to skim over the planes of the muscles of Athos’s shoulders.

It was no wonder Athos was such a skilled swordsman when one appreciated the power afforded him by the additional musculature required for his wings.

As he contemplated that, a further thought struck Aramis.

“Can you fly?”

“I could when I was a boy,” Athos confirmed, reflective and with perhaps a touch of regret. “But I haven’t even attempted to do so for years.”

“You should,” Porthos said with determined resolution, and Aramis nodded his agreement.

“We’ll find a place,” he promised, already thinking of suitable locations, away from Paris, with a private seclusion just the three of them could enjoy.

“I’d like that,” Athos said, voice thick with emotion, surprised by just how agreeable he found the notion and wanting nothing more than to share that joy he had felt as a boy with his friends. He smiled, open and unconstrained and a little overwhelmed by the strength of the love that enveloped him. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Supertramp's 'Free as a Bird'.


End file.
